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The Firebird - A Crux Fairy Tale

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Jollyrei

Angelus Mortis
Staff member
The Firebird
A Crux Fairy Tale, based on the Russian tales of the same name.
Firegirl02aa.jpg I must apologize, from the outset, insofar as this first chapter contains no deaths, no crucifixions, only implied sex, and honestly, no CF crux girls. These crucial elements of a CF story will all show up as we go along, so do please bear with me, and I hope you will at least be entertained along the way.

Chapter 1:

Once upon a time, because that’s the way one starts this sort of story, there was a Tsar. He may have once been a good ruler, but since his wife had died, many years ago, he had grown tired of his kingdom, and left the management of his empire to his two sons, Phlebas Tsareivitch, the older son, who wasn’t anywhere near old, and Jollyrei Tsareivitch, the younger son, who wasn’t much younger. They were reasonably good at it, and the peasants did not suffer more than any other peasants of the time. They usually had enough to eat, even in the cold Russian winters. The Tsar himself grew obsessed with his gardens, and especially with a tree that grew golden apples.

“So why does, father’s tree have golden apples?” asked Phlebas. “It’s not a normal thing.”

“It’s a fairy tale,” said Jollyrei. “It’s the same as how we can have these radically non-Russian names, even though we’re the sons of a Tsar.”

“Perhaps we had an exotic foreign mother,” said Phlebas. “That might explain it.”

“The story doesn’t say,” said Jollyrei.

“Do you suppose they’re magic?” asked Phlebas.

“Our names?” asked Jollyrei, looking up in some confusion from his work table. He was piecing together a 1/100th scale model of the Martyrdom of St. Eulalia. “Why should they be magic?”

“No, you idiot,” said Phlebas. “The golden apples.”

“Father won’t let anyone into the garden to find out,” said Jollyrei.

“So you’ve tried,” said Phleba.

“Not to get apples,” said Jollyrei. “You see, there was the new chamber maid…”

“Of course,” said Phlebas. “Same with me, only because of the new servant in the wine cellars. Anyway, Father is obsessed with those golden apples.”

As if on cue, there was a great commotion out in the corridor, and in burst the Tsar and two large bearded guardsmen.

“That does it!” the Tsar shouted. “I leave things to you two lazy nitwits, and the whole empire goes to pot.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” asked Phlebas. “The Empire is fine. The peasants even have food in winter.” Jollyrei nodded in agreement.

“My gardens,” said the Tsar. “Every night for the past week, someone has stolen a golden apple from my prize tree.”

“I hardly think that counts as a national emergency,” said Jollyrei. “Surely you can simply set some sort of trap for the thief. Anyway, how could anyone get in there. You keep it locked up like a Saint’s chastity belt. He held up a small carved 1/100th scale example.

“Well, it’s about to be a national emergency for you two,” growled the Tsar. “You are going to catch the thief. You are going to find out who it is within the week or you can both be beheaded.” (Did anyone mention that the Tsar was evil, and probably insane? No? They really should have done. You’d better just go on from this point with that assumption.)

“Then you’ll have no heir,” said Jollyrei.

“You have cousins who can take your places,” said the apparently evil Tsar. “I’ll tell you a little secret. Those golden apples are magic…”

“There!” said Phlebas. “Told you!”

“What?” asked Jollyrei.

“They’re magic apples,” said Phlebas triumphantly.

“Will you both shut up?” shouted the Tsar. “I don’t give a single damn about your inane discussions. I am convinced that these magic apples are the only things standing in the way of the destruction of my empire. This is important enough that I’m going to murder both my sons in true fairy tale fashion if you do not find the thief. If you find him, I will divide the empire in half and you can each be Tsar of half of it. Take the key to my garden and get on with it.”

“The Captain of the Guard would never behead us, even on your orders,” said Jollyrei. “We’ve known him since we were small boys.”

The Captain grinned evilly through his beard.

“Oh yes he will,” said the Tsar. “I’m the Tsar.”

“He would too though,” murmured Phlebas. “Who knew there were so many evil guys around here?”

“Who knew Father was a raving loonie?" said Jollyrei. "Bit of a surprise to me too. Ironically, it is now quite easy for us to get into the garden with our respective servant girls.”

So the two princes, under threat of death, took the key to the garden, and two young servant girls, and made their way that evening after supper to the secret garden of the Tsar. They brought swords to fight the thief, rope to bind him, and the serving girls just in case he didn’t show up. They didn’t want to waste their time, you see. They also felt that the rope could serve to bind the serving girls.

Then they lay in wait (if you want to call it that) until everyone was fairly happy. Phlebas was untying his wine serving girl when Jollyrei said: “Shhh. I heard something.”

Everyone went quiet and ducked behind a nearby hedge.

There was a glow, coming from beyond the garden wall which grew brighter, and brighter, until something like a small star seemed to drift down over the wall and onto the grass of the lawn. It was a bird, but a bird unlike anything either prince (or the serving girls either, although they don’t really matter in this story, sorry girls.) had ever seen. (Don’t worry, there will be other girls who do matter. It’s just these particular ones don’t really. They’re like throw cushions – a bit of décor, but not really critical to anything.) The bird was elegant and graceful in appearance, and appeared to be on fire, it’s feathers shimmering in red, orange, blue and gold. The princes (and serving girls) stared at it, entranced.

As it landed in on the lawn of the garden it transformed into a slim, graceful dark-haired woman. Her skin was perfect, and she wore a gown that seemed to burn, shimmering in flame colours like the bird’s feathers, although it didn’t seem to harm her.

“Now that’s what I call a fire bird,” murmured Jollyrei to himself.

The Firebird woman walked quickly to the tree in the centre of the garden, looked around quickly, and then picked one of the golden apples.

“Have you seen anything like that before?” whispered Jollyrei.

“No,” said Phlebas, “It’s fantastic. I bet the girls haven’t seen anything like that either.”

“Well, no,” said Jollyrei, “but they hardly matter, do they?”

“Well, I like that!” exclaimed the chambermaid. “Come on, Lyudmila.” And the two insulted serving girls got up and started across the garden to the gate.

The Firebird woman, startled by the noise, gave a sharp (but musical) cry. Phlebas and Jollyrei jumped out from behind the hedge to try to capture her. The princes charged toward her, diving as she transformed into her bird form. Jollyrei was closest and managed to grasp the bird’s tail as she took off.

There was a moment where he thought he had her, and then she was gone, over the garden wall.

“Does this mean that we lose our heads then?” asked Jollyrei.

“Father gave us a week, but I doubt we’ll be able to capture that bird, er, girl…er bird. And he’s hardly going to believe a firebird came in, turned into a girl, and stole an apple, and then flew away, while we dallied with two servant girls.”

“No look,” said Jollyrei. “I got a feather from her tail.” He held up a shining feather, about 12 inches long and two inches in width, which seemed alive with an internal fire. Anyone who believes his apples are magic is bound to believe a firebird story, if we have this feather.”

“I think it’s the best chance we have,” said Phlebas, “but it’s not going to get us the kingdom.”

“Maybe we should consider exile,” said Jollyrei. “I hear Sweden can be nice.”

“Too close to Russia,” said Phlebas. “I think we should go to Australia.”

“I think that’s just a mythical place,” said Jollyrei, “like Atlantis.”

And so the next morning, the two princes dressed in their finest clothes and presented the firebird’s feather to their father.

“Majesty,” said Phlebas. “We wish to report that we know who the thief of your apples is.”

“Splendid,” said the Tsar, obviously pleased. “Show him to me.”

“Unfortunately,” said Jollyrei, “the thief got away.”

“What!?” roared the Tsar. “You let him escape.”

“No, Sire,” said Phlebas. “The thief is an enchanted woman, a Firebird. Jolly got one of its feathers.”

Jollyrei held up the feather, which glowed brightly, filling the room with something like firelight. The Tsar stared at it, entranced.

“So, er,” said Jollyrei, “could you see clear to letting us, you know… um…”

“…keep our heads,” finished Phlebas.

“Oh, yes,” said the Tsar, gazing raptly at the feather. “You will keep your heads. You need them, because you are both banished from my palace and must scour the world to find me this Firebird. Whichever of you brings it to me shall immediately become Tsar of all the Russias (“How many are there?” whispered Jollyrei. “No clue,” said Phlebas.). If you don’t find it, and try to return, then I’ll chop off your head. (“Australia,” said both princes.)

“You may have one week to make your preparations for your quest,” said the Tsar. “Now, leave me that feather, and go.”

And so it was, that one week hence, Phlebas and Jollyrei mounted their horses, and rode away from the palace of their birth, to find the legendary Firebird.

“Shame that our crazed father kept the Firebird's feather,” said Phlebas. “She's really very pretty.”

“Yes. She’s quite hot,” said Jollyrei.

“You did that on purpose,” accused Phlebas.

“It seemed an obvious joke,” said Jollyrei. “I thought it best we get it out of the way now.”

“Have you ever been outside the palace,” asked Phlebas.

“It seems odd,” said Jollyrei, “but now that you mention it, no. I don’t think I have, although I seem to be able to ride this horse quite well.”

“That’s the fairy tale doing its thing again, then,” said Phlebas. “Do you suppose we’re any good in a fight?”

“Just have to hope for the best,” said Jollyrei. “It does explain why we have ridden only about 5 miles, and are in a completely unfamiliar wilderness. I don’t suppose there’s a map?”

“No,” said Phlebas. “But there’s a signpost up ahead at that crossroads.”

They rode to the crossroads, where there was a branching of the road in three different directions. The signpost was so weathered that the sign pointers were unreadable.

“Well, this is cheerful,” said Jollyrei.

“There seems to be some words carved into that stone there,” said Phlebas, pointing to a large gray stone beside the signpost.

“What’s it say,” asked Jollyrei, dismounting. Phlebas likewise dismounted, and the two princes went to read the stone. It read:

“Choose thy way with care, O traveller,
For peril lies on all roads,
Upon the one hand lies hunger and cold,

Upon the second is life, although your horse perish

But upon the other hand is Death, and only your horse will return.”


“That doesn’t rhyme,” said Jollyrei. “Isn’t it supposed to rhyme?”

“I don’t know,” said Phlebas with some exasperation. “I can’t recall the last time I was in a fairy tale.”

“Which one do we take?” asked Jollyrei.

“I think, given the quest we’re on, that this is where we part ways,” said Phlebas. “We need to split up. It will give us a better chance that one of us gets back. Father was only ever going to let one of us return anyway. So, one of us gets the Firebird, and becomes Tsar, and when it’s safe, he can inform the other one and we can both get home.”

“That sounds strangely reasonable,” said Jollyrei. “So all we have to do is avoid the path where one of us dies.”

“Well, considering the sounds of screaming and the pall of smoke on the right hand fork,” said Phlebas drily, “that’s probably the path to certain death there.” As if to prove a point, a horse ran up the right-hand path, and galloped off on the road back to the Tsar's palace. A loose wagon wheel also rolled out of the smoke and fell into the ditch at the side of the road, but this always happens and is unimportant.

“Agreed,” said Jollyrei. “So we risk the other two paths. Which one will you take?”

“I want a sign,” said Phlebas. “Some portent for the road I shall take.” A large raven swooped down from out of the smoke from the right-hand path, and landed at the start of the left hand road. It looked intelligently at Phlebas.

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Jollyrei.

“It’s as good a sign as any,” said Phlebas. “Anyway, it’s one road or the other. I’ll take the left hand road.”

“Okay then,” said Jollyrei. “I’ll take the centre road. Keep your cloak and food safe, in case of the hunger and cold, and watch out for danger to your horse.”

“You too,” said Phlebas. “I hope we meet again in happier times.”

“Right,” said Jollyrei.

“I hate long good-byes,” said Phlebas.

And so Prince Phlebas took the left road, and Prince Jollyrei rode down the centre road, to take whatever adventures awaited.

The raven, after a moment, flew off after Phlebas. Meanwhile, on the centre path, Jollyrei’s passage was noted by a large gray wolf.

To be continued…
 
The Firebird
A Crux Fairy Tale, based on the Russian tales of the same name.
View attachment 430066 I must apologize, from the outset, insofar as this first chapter contains no deaths, no crucifixions, only implied sex, and honestly, no CF crux girls. These crucial elements of a CF story will all show up as we go along, so do please bear with me, and I hope you will at least be entertained along the way.

Chapter 1:

Once upon a time, because that’s the way one starts this sort of story, there was a Tsar. He may have once been a good ruler, but since his wife had died, many years ago, he had grown tired of his kingdom, and left the management of his empire to his two sons, Phlebas Tsareivitch, the older son, who wasn’t anywhere near old, and Jollyrei Tsareivitch, the younger son, who wasn’t much younger. They were reasonably good at it, and the peasants did not suffer more than any other peasants of the time. They usually had enough to eat, even in the cold Russian winters. The Tsar himself grew obsessed with his gardens, and especially with a tree that grew golden apples.

“So why does, father’s tree have golden apples?” asked Phlebas. “It’s not a normal thing.”

“It’s a fairy tale,” said Jollyrei. “It’s the same as how we can have these radically non-Russian names, even though we’re the sons of a Tsar.”

“Perhaps we had an exotic foreign mother,” said Phlebas. “That might explain it.”

“The story doesn’t say,” said Jollyrei.

“Do you suppose they’re magic?” asked Phlebas.

“Our names?” asked Jollyrei, looking up in some confusion from his work table. He was piecing together a 1/100th scale model of the Martyrdom of St. Eulalia. “Why should they be magic?”

“No, you idiot,” said Phlebas. “The golden apples.”

“Father won’t let anyone into the garden to find out,” said Jollyrei.

“So you’ve tried,” said Phleba.

“Not to get apples,” said Jollyrei. “You see, there was the new chamber maid…”

“Of course,” said Phlebas. “Same with me, only because of the new servant in the wine cellars. Anyway, Father is obsessed with those golden apples.”

As if on cue, there was a great commotion out in the corridor, and in burst the Tsar and two large bearded guardsmen.

“That does it!” the Tsar shouted. “I leave things to you two lazy nitwits, and the whole empire goes to pot.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” asked Phlebas. “The Empire is fine. The peasants even have food in winter.” Jollyrei nodded in agreement.

“My gardens,” said the Tsar. “Every night for the past week, someone has stolen a golden apple from my prize tree.”

“I hardly think that counts as a national emergency,” said Jollyrei. “Surely you can simply set some sort of trap for the thief. Anyway, how could anyone get in there. You keep it locked up like a Saint’s chastity belt. He held up a small carved 1/100th scale example.

“Well, it’s about to be a national emergency for you two,” growled the Tsar. “You are going to catch the thief. You are going to find out who it is within the week or you can both be beheaded.” (Did anyone mention that the Tsar was evil, and probably insane? No? They really should have done. You’d better just go on from this point with that assumption.)

“Then you’ll have no heir,” said Jollyrei.

“You have cousins who can take your places,” said the apparently evil Tsar. “I’ll tell you a little secret. Those golden apples are magic…”

“There!” said Phlebas. “Told you!”

“What?” asked Jollyrei.

“They’re magic apples,” said Phlebas triumphantly.

“Will you both shut up?” shouted the Tsar. “I don’t give a single damn about your inane discussions. I am convinced that these magic apples are the only things standing in the way of the destruction of my empire. This is important enough that I’m going to murder both my sons in true fairy tale fashion if you do not find the thief. If you find him, I will divide the empire in half and you can each be Tsar of half of it. Take the key to my garden and get on with it.”

“The Captain of the Guard would never behead us, even on your orders,” said Jollyrei. “We’ve known him since we were small boys.”

The Captain grinned evilly through his beard.

“Oh yes he will,” said the Tsar. “I’m the Tsar.”

“He would too though,” murmured Phlebas. “Who knew there were so many evil guys around here?”

“Who knew Father was a raving loonie?" said Jollyrei. "Bit of a surprise to me too. Ironically, it is now quite easy for us to get into the garden with our respective servant girls.”

So the two princes, under threat of death, took the key to the garden, and two young servant girls, and made their way that evening after supper to the secret garden of the Tsar. They brought swords to fight the thief, rope to bind him, and the serving girls just in case he didn’t show up. They didn’t want to waste their time, you see. They also felt that the rope could serve to bind the serving girls.

Then they lay in wait (if you want to call it that) until everyone was fairly happy. Phlebas was untying his wine serving girl when Jollyrei said: “Shhh. I heard something.”

Everyone went quiet and ducked behind a nearby hedge.

There was a glow, coming from beyond the garden wall which grew brighter, and brighter, until something like a small star seemed to drift down over the wall and onto the grass of the lawn. It was a bird, but a bird unlike anything either prince (or the serving girls either, although they don’t really matter in this story, sorry girls.) had ever seen. (Don’t worry, there will be other girls who do matter. It’s just these particular ones don’t really. They’re like throw cushions – a bit of décor, but not really critical to anything.) The bird was elegant and graceful in appearance, and appeared to be on fire, it’s feathers shimmering in red, orange, blue and gold. The princes (and serving girls) stared at it, entranced.

As it landed in on the lawn of the garden it transformed into a slim, graceful dark-haired woman. Her skin was perfect, and she wore a gown that seemed to burn, shimmering in flame colours like the bird’s feathers, although it didn’t seem to harm her.

“Now that’s what I call a fire bird,” murmured Jollyrei to himself.

The Firebird woman walked quickly to the tree in the centre of the garden, looked around quickly, and then picked one of the golden apples.

“Have you seen anything like that before?” whispered Jollyrei.

“No,” said Phlebas, “It’s fantastic. I bet the girls haven’t seen anything like that either.”

“Well, no,” said Jollyrei, “but they hardly matter, do they?”

“Well, I like that!” exclaimed the chambermaid. “Come on, Lyudmila.” And the two insulted serving girls got up and started across the garden to the gate.

The Firebird woman, startled by the noise, gave a sharp (but musical) cry. Phlebas and Jollyrei jumped out from behind the hedge to try to capture her. The princes charged toward her, diving as she transformed into her bird form. Jollyrei was closest and managed to grasp the bird’s tail as she took off.

There was a moment where he thought he had her, and then she was gone, over the garden wall.

“Does this mean that we lose our heads then?” asked Jollyrei.

“Father gave us a week, but I doubt we’ll be able to capture that bird, er, girl…er bird. And he’s hardly going to believe a firebird came in, turned into a girl, and stole an apple, and then flew away, while we dallied with two servant girls.”

“No look,” said Jollyrei. “I got a feather from her tail.” He held up a shining feather, about 12 inches long and two inches in width, which seemed alive with an internal fire. Anyone who believes his apples are magic is bound to believe a firebird story, if we have this feather.”

“I think it’s the best chance we have,” said Phlebas, “but it’s not going to get us the kingdom.”

“Maybe we should consider exile,” said Jollyrei. “I hear Sweden can be nice.”

“Too close to Russia,” said Phlebas. “I think we should go to Australia.”

“I think that’s just a mythical place,” said Jollyrei, “like Atlantis.”

And so the next morning, the two princes dressed in their finest clothes and presented the firebird’s feather to their father.

“Majesty,” said Phlebas. “We wish to report that we know who the thief of your apples is.”

“Splendid,” said the Tsar, obviously pleased. “Show him to me.”

“Unfortunately,” said Jollyrei, “the thief got away.”

“What!?” roared the Tsar. “You let him escape.”

“No, Sire,” said Phlebas. “The thief is an enchanted woman, a Firebird. Jolly got one of its feathers.”

Jollyrei held up the feather, which glowed brightly, filling the room with something like firelight. The Tsar stared at it, entranced.

“So, er,” said Jollyrei, “could you see clear to letting us, you know… um…”

“…keep our heads,” finished Phlebas.

“Oh, yes,” said the Tsar, gazing raptly at the feather. “You will keep your heads. You need them, because you are both banished from my palace and must scour the world to find me this Firebird. Whichever of you brings it to me shall immediately become Tsar of all the Russias (“How many are there?” whispered Jollyrei. “No clue,” said Phlebas.). If you don’t find it, and try to return, then I’ll chop off your head. (“Australia,” said both princes.)

“You may have one week to make your preparations for your quest,” said the Tsar. “Now, leave me that feather, and go.”

And so it was, that one week hence, Phlebas and Jollyrei mounted their horses, and rode away from the palace of their birth, to find the legendary Firebird.

“Shame that our crazed father kept the Firebird's feather,” said Phlebas. “She's really very pretty.”

“Yes. She’s quite hot,” said Jollyrei.

“You did that on purpose,” accused Phlebas.

“It seemed an obvious joke,” said Jollyrei. “I thought it best we get it out of the way now.”

“Have you ever been outside the palace,” asked Phlebas.

“It seems odd,” said Jollyrei, “but now that you mention it, no. I don’t think I have, although I seem to be able to ride this horse quite well.”

“That’s the fairy tale doing its thing again, then,” said Phlebas. “Do you suppose we’re any good in a fight?”

“Just have to hope for the best,” said Jollyrei. “It does explain why we have ridden only about 5 miles, and are in a completely unfamiliar wilderness. I don’t suppose there’s a map?”

“No,” said Phlebas. “But there’s a signpost up ahead at that crossroads.”

They rode to the crossroads, where there was a branching of the road in three different directions. The signpost was so weathered that the sign pointers were unreadable.

“Well, this is cheerful,” said Jollyrei.

“There seems to be some words carved into that stone there,” said Phlebas, pointing to a large gray stone beside the signpost.

“What’s it say,” asked Jollyrei, dismounting. Phlebas likewise dismounted, and the two princes went to read the stone. It read:

“Choose thy way with care, O traveller,
For peril lies on all roads,
Upon the one hand lies hunger and cold,

Upon the second is life, although your horse perish

But upon the other hand is Death, and only your horse will return.”


“That doesn’t rhyme,” said Jollyrei. “Isn’t it supposed to rhyme?”

“I don’t know,” said Phlebas with some exasperation. “I can’t recall the last time I was in a fairy tale.”

“Which one do we take?” asked Jollyrei.

“I think, given the quest we’re on, that this is where we part ways,” said Phlebas. “We need to split up. It will give us a better chance that one of us gets back. Father was only ever going to let one of us return anyway. So, one of us gets the Firebird, and becomes Tsar, and when it’s safe, he can inform the other one and we can both get home.”

“That sounds strangely reasonable,” said Jollyrei. “So all we have to do is avoid the path where one of us dies.”

“Well, considering the sounds of screaming and the pall of smoke on the right hand fork,” said Phlebas drily, “that’s probably the path to certain death there.” As if to prove a point, a horse ran up the right-hand path, and galloped off on the road back to the Tsar's palace. A loose wagon wheel also rolled out of the smoke and fell into the ditch at the side of the road, but this always happens and is unimportant.

“Agreed,” said Jollyrei. “So we risk the other two paths. Which one will you take?”

“I want a sign,” said Phlebas. “Some portent for the road I shall take.” A large raven swooped down from out of the smoke from the right-hand path, and landed at the start of the left hand road. It looked intelligently at Phlebas.

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Jollyrei.

“It’s as good a sign as any,” said Phlebas. “Anyway, it’s one road or the other. I’ll take the left hand road.”

“Okay then,” said Jollyrei. “I’ll take the centre road. Keep your cloak and food safe, in case of the hunger and cold, and watch out for danger to your horse.”

“You too,” said Phlebas. “I hope we meet again in happier times.”

“Right,” said Jollyrei.

“I hate long good-byes,” said Phlebas.

And so Prince Phlebas took the left road, and Prince Jollyrei rode down the centre road, to take whatever adventures awaited.

The raven, after a moment, flew off after Phlebas. Meanwhile, on the centre path, Jollyrei’s passage was noted by a large gray wolf.

To be continued…
I think Dylan should surrender his Nobel Prize to a bright new writing star by the name of Jollyrei. This is so well written and so incredibly clever Jolly! I will be laughing all night after reading this. And it's only just begun. Write on good man. Your CF audience shall breathlessly await the next installment and you shall surely keep your head.
 
I think Dylan should surrender his Nobel Prize to a bright new writing star by the name of Jollyrei. This is so well written and so incredibly clever Jolly! I will be laughing all night after reading this. And it's only just begun. Write on good man. Your CF audience shall breathlessly await the next installment and you shall surely keep your head.
You're very kind.:) I will endeavour to keep it up. And yes, I suspect I will keep my head for a couple more chapters at least - it makes things rather short (pardon the pun) if one is decapitated before the quest starts. :eek::doh:

but for now, good night.
 
Jollyrei, what a superb idea for a story! :)

We will indeed be with you, every step of the way in your quest for the Firebarb Firebird! ;) :D
 
Good start of a promising story Jollirey.
Reminding us several times that it's a fairy tale is an innovative approach that I have never seen in other fairy tales. But it also makes me suspicious. Perhaps in the end the story will turn out to be true.
 
The Firebird
A Crux Fairy Tale, based on the Russian tales of the same name.
View attachment 430066 I must apologize, from the outset, insofar as this first chapter contains no deaths, no crucifixions, only implied sex, and honestly, no CF crux girls. These crucial elements of a CF story will all show up as we go along, so do please bear with me, and I hope you will at least be entertained along the way.

Chapter 1:

Once upon a time, because that’s the way one starts this sort of story, there was a Tsar. He may have once been a good ruler, but since his wife had died, many years ago, he had grown tired of his kingdom, and left the management of his empire to his two sons, Phlebas Tsareivitch, the older son, who wasn’t anywhere near old, and Jollyrei Tsareivitch, the younger son, who wasn’t much younger. They were reasonably good at it, and the peasants did not suffer more than any other peasants of the time. They usually had enough to eat, even in the cold Russian winters. The Tsar himself grew obsessed with his gardens, and especially with a tree that grew golden apples.

“So why does, father’s tree have golden apples?” asked Phlebas. “It’s not a normal thing.”

“It’s a fairy tale,” said Jollyrei. “It’s the same as how we can have these radically non-Russian names, even though we’re the sons of a Tsar.”

“Perhaps we had an exotic foreign mother,” said Phlebas. “That might explain it.”

“The story doesn’t say,” said Jollyrei.

“Do you suppose they’re magic?” asked Phlebas.

“Our names?” asked Jollyrei, looking up in some confusion from his work table. He was piecing together a 1/100th scale model of the Martyrdom of St. Eulalia. “Why should they be magic?”

“No, you idiot,” said Phlebas. “The golden apples.”

“Father won’t let anyone into the garden to find out,” said Jollyrei.

“So you’ve tried,” said Phleba.

“Not to get apples,” said Jollyrei. “You see, there was the new chamber maid…”

“Of course,” said Phlebas. “Same with me, only because of the new servant in the wine cellars. Anyway, Father is obsessed with those golden apples.”

As if on cue, there was a great commotion out in the corridor, and in burst the Tsar and two large bearded guardsmen.

“That does it!” the Tsar shouted. “I leave things to you two lazy nitwits, and the whole empire goes to pot.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” asked Phlebas. “The Empire is fine. The peasants even have food in winter.” Jollyrei nodded in agreement.

“My gardens,” said the Tsar. “Every night for the past week, someone has stolen a golden apple from my prize tree.”

“I hardly think that counts as a national emergency,” said Jollyrei. “Surely you can simply set some sort of trap for the thief. Anyway, how could anyone get in there. You keep it locked up like a Saint’s chastity belt. He held up a small carved 1/100th scale example.

“Well, it’s about to be a national emergency for you two,” growled the Tsar. “You are going to catch the thief. You are going to find out who it is within the week or you can both be beheaded.” (Did anyone mention that the Tsar was evil, and probably insane? No? They really should have done. You’d better just go on from this point with that assumption.)

“Then you’ll have no heir,” said Jollyrei.

“You have cousins who can take your places,” said the apparently evil Tsar. “I’ll tell you a little secret. Those golden apples are magic…”

“There!” said Phlebas. “Told you!”

“What?” asked Jollyrei.

“They’re magic apples,” said Phlebas triumphantly.

“Will you both shut up?” shouted the Tsar. “I don’t give a single damn about your inane discussions. I am convinced that these magic apples are the only things standing in the way of the destruction of my empire. This is important enough that I’m going to murder both my sons in true fairy tale fashion if you do not find the thief. If you find him, I will divide the empire in half and you can each be Tsar of half of it. Take the key to my garden and get on with it.”

“The Captain of the Guard would never behead us, even on your orders,” said Jollyrei. “We’ve known him since we were small boys.”

The Captain grinned evilly through his beard.

“Oh yes he will,” said the Tsar. “I’m the Tsar.”

“He would too though,” murmured Phlebas. “Who knew there were so many evil guys around here?”

“Who knew Father was a raving loonie?" said Jollyrei. "Bit of a surprise to me too. Ironically, it is now quite easy for us to get into the garden with our respective servant girls.”

So the two princes, under threat of death, took the key to the garden, and two young servant girls, and made their way that evening after supper to the secret garden of the Tsar. They brought swords to fight the thief, rope to bind him, and the serving girls just in case he didn’t show up. They didn’t want to waste their time, you see. They also felt that the rope could serve to bind the serving girls.

Then they lay in wait (if you want to call it that) until everyone was fairly happy. Phlebas was untying his wine serving girl when Jollyrei said: “Shhh. I heard something.”

Everyone went quiet and ducked behind a nearby hedge.

There was a glow, coming from beyond the garden wall which grew brighter, and brighter, until something like a small star seemed to drift down over the wall and onto the grass of the lawn. It was a bird, but a bird unlike anything either prince (or the serving girls either, although they don’t really matter in this story, sorry girls.) had ever seen. (Don’t worry, there will be other girls who do matter. It’s just these particular ones don’t really. They’re like throw cushions – a bit of décor, but not really critical to anything.) The bird was elegant and graceful in appearance, and appeared to be on fire, it’s feathers shimmering in red, orange, blue and gold. The princes (and serving girls) stared at it, entranced.

As it landed in on the lawn of the garden it transformed into a slim, graceful dark-haired woman. Her skin was perfect, and she wore a gown that seemed to burn, shimmering in flame colours like the bird’s feathers, although it didn’t seem to harm her.

“Now that’s what I call a fire bird,” murmured Jollyrei to himself.

The Firebird woman walked quickly to the tree in the centre of the garden, looked around quickly, and then picked one of the golden apples.

“Have you seen anything like that before?” whispered Jollyrei.

“No,” said Phlebas, “It’s fantastic. I bet the girls haven’t seen anything like that either.”

“Well, no,” said Jollyrei, “but they hardly matter, do they?”

“Well, I like that!” exclaimed the chambermaid. “Come on, Lyudmila.” And the two insulted serving girls got up and started across the garden to the gate.

The Firebird woman, startled by the noise, gave a sharp (but musical) cry. Phlebas and Jollyrei jumped out from behind the hedge to try to capture her. The princes charged toward her, diving as she transformed into her bird form. Jollyrei was closest and managed to grasp the bird’s tail as she took off.

There was a moment where he thought he had her, and then she was gone, over the garden wall.

“Does this mean that we lose our heads then?” asked Jollyrei.

“Father gave us a week, but I doubt we’ll be able to capture that bird, er, girl…er bird. And he’s hardly going to believe a firebird came in, turned into a girl, and stole an apple, and then flew away, while we dallied with two servant girls.”

“No look,” said Jollyrei. “I got a feather from her tail.” He held up a shining feather, about 12 inches long and two inches in width, which seemed alive with an internal fire. Anyone who believes his apples are magic is bound to believe a firebird story, if we have this feather.”

“I think it’s the best chance we have,” said Phlebas, “but it’s not going to get us the kingdom.”

“Maybe we should consider exile,” said Jollyrei. “I hear Sweden can be nice.”

“Too close to Russia,” said Phlebas. “I think we should go to Australia.”

“I think that’s just a mythical place,” said Jollyrei, “like Atlantis.”

And so the next morning, the two princes dressed in their finest clothes and presented the firebird’s feather to their father.

“Majesty,” said Phlebas. “We wish to report that we know who the thief of your apples is.”

“Splendid,” said the Tsar, obviously pleased. “Show him to me.”

“Unfortunately,” said Jollyrei, “the thief got away.”

“What!?” roared the Tsar. “You let him escape.”

“No, Sire,” said Phlebas. “The thief is an enchanted woman, a Firebird. Jolly got one of its feathers.”

Jollyrei held up the feather, which glowed brightly, filling the room with something like firelight. The Tsar stared at it, entranced.

“So, er,” said Jollyrei, “could you see clear to letting us, you know… um…”

“…keep our heads,” finished Phlebas.

“Oh, yes,” said the Tsar, gazing raptly at the feather. “You will keep your heads. You need them, because you are both banished from my palace and must scour the world to find me this Firebird. Whichever of you brings it to me shall immediately become Tsar of all the Russias (“How many are there?” whispered Jollyrei. “No clue,” said Phlebas.). If you don’t find it, and try to return, then I’ll chop off your head. (“Australia,” said both princes.)

“You may have one week to make your preparations for your quest,” said the Tsar. “Now, leave me that feather, and go.”

And so it was, that one week hence, Phlebas and Jollyrei mounted their horses, and rode away from the palace of their birth, to find the legendary Firebird.

“Shame that our crazed father kept the Firebird's feather,” said Phlebas. “She's really very pretty.”

“Yes. She’s quite hot,” said Jollyrei.

“You did that on purpose,” accused Phlebas.

“It seemed an obvious joke,” said Jollyrei. “I thought it best we get it out of the way now.”

“Have you ever been outside the palace,” asked Phlebas.

“It seems odd,” said Jollyrei, “but now that you mention it, no. I don’t think I have, although I seem to be able to ride this horse quite well.”

“That’s the fairy tale doing its thing again, then,” said Phlebas. “Do you suppose we’re any good in a fight?”

“Just have to hope for the best,” said Jollyrei. “It does explain why we have ridden only about 5 miles, and are in a completely unfamiliar wilderness. I don’t suppose there’s a map?”

“No,” said Phlebas. “But there’s a signpost up ahead at that crossroads.”

They rode to the crossroads, where there was a branching of the road in three different directions. The signpost was so weathered that the sign pointers were unreadable.

“Well, this is cheerful,” said Jollyrei.

“There seems to be some words carved into that stone there,” said Phlebas, pointing to a large gray stone beside the signpost.

“What’s it say,” asked Jollyrei, dismounting. Phlebas likewise dismounted, and the two princes went to read the stone. It read:

“Choose thy way with care, O traveller,
For peril lies on all roads,
Upon the one hand lies hunger and cold,

Upon the second is life, although your horse perish

But upon the other hand is Death, and only your horse will return.”


“That doesn’t rhyme,” said Jollyrei. “Isn’t it supposed to rhyme?”

“I don’t know,” said Phlebas with some exasperation. “I can’t recall the last time I was in a fairy tale.”

“Which one do we take?” asked Jollyrei.

“I think, given the quest we’re on, that this is where we part ways,” said Phlebas. “We need to split up. It will give us a better chance that one of us gets back. Father was only ever going to let one of us return anyway. So, one of us gets the Firebird, and becomes Tsar, and when it’s safe, he can inform the other one and we can both get home.”

“That sounds strangely reasonable,” said Jollyrei. “So all we have to do is avoid the path where one of us dies.”

“Well, considering the sounds of screaming and the pall of smoke on the right hand fork,” said Phlebas drily, “that’s probably the path to certain death there.” As if to prove a point, a horse ran up the right-hand path, and galloped off on the road back to the Tsar's palace. A loose wagon wheel also rolled out of the smoke and fell into the ditch at the side of the road, but this always happens and is unimportant.

“Agreed,” said Jollyrei. “So we risk the other two paths. Which one will you take?”

“I want a sign,” said Phlebas. “Some portent for the road I shall take.” A large raven swooped down from out of the smoke from the right-hand path, and landed at the start of the left hand road. It looked intelligently at Phlebas.

“You’ve got to be joking,” said Jollyrei.

“It’s as good a sign as any,” said Phlebas. “Anyway, it’s one road or the other. I’ll take the left hand road.”

“Okay then,” said Jollyrei. “I’ll take the centre road. Keep your cloak and food safe, in case of the hunger and cold, and watch out for danger to your horse.”

“You too,” said Phlebas. “I hope we meet again in happier times.”

“Right,” said Jollyrei.

“I hate long good-byes,” said Phlebas.

And so Prince Phlebas took the left road, and Prince Jollyrei rode down the centre road, to take whatever adventures awaited.

The raven, after a moment, flew off after Phlebas. Meanwhile, on the centre path, Jollyrei’s passage was noted by a large gray wolf.

To be continued…
An excellent start to what I believe will be a great story. I will definitely be watching this thread:)
Now let me get my :popcorn: ready for the next chapter.
 
Chapter 2:

Prince Jollyrei rode up the centre road, which quickly started descending from what had been a rocky bleak plateau down into a forested valley. The sun came out, and he was feeling quite cheerful. He spurred his horse into a gallop and was moving quickly, even though he had no idea where he was going.

It wasn’t like finding a Firebird was simple. It was all the business of looking for the Firebird that was tricky. I mean, it’s not like there was a book on the life and habitat of the red-plumed Firebird. Actually, he thought, maybe there was, but he hadn’t bothered to check the palace library. He had packed food, weapons, warm clothing, and a first aid kit, in addition to blankets and other things you needed to camp out. He had even packed a few things he had heard that some Italian nobleman, Casanova, always took along in case he might spend the night with a lady and might need fresh breath in the morning.

The forest was getting thicker now, and he slowed his horse to avoid being brained by low branches. It seemed unlikely that he would find any young ladies in this wood to spend the night with. A map might have been a better idea, but nobody in fairy tale quests ever takes a map. He felt happy about this thought. At least he was doing this whole questing thing properly. Bound to get somewhere.

So he pressed on through the forest, convinced that, even though he really had no idea what he was doing, he would ultimately win through. It had always worked before. On the other hand, he thought, in most fairy tales, it was the third son who usually managed to fulfill the quest and live happily ever after with a beautiful princess, and he knew how to count. There was Phlebas and him. That made two, not three. Perhaps some caution was in order.

Around noon, he came to a clearing in the wood, where the sun shone down in dappled dancing beams among some wildflowers, and he decided that it was time for a rest. He dismounted and took down his saddlebags and then let his horse graze in the meadow while he had a bite of lunch.

“Well,” he said, “so far I am not cold nor hungry, and even though I have no idea where the Firebird might be, this forest is quite peaceful. I think that whole thing about my horse dying must be false.” He laughed happily as he sat down to eat some cold beef and bread, and a few swallows of wine he had brought along.

Nobody could have been more surprised than him when a huge gray wolf leapt out of the forest and ate his horse.

He just stared. One second, all was peaceful. There was decent wine and a grazing happy horse. The next second (or so it seemed) the horse was down, there was blood everywhere, or all over one large patch of meadow anyway, and a huge wolf was tucking into his horse.

The wolf did not bother to eat the saddle or bridle, but made a good job of much of the rest of a very decent horse. Jollyrei had worked hard to buy that horse from Lada Zhiguli, the most famous horse breeder in all the Russias. (He really would have to find out how many Russias there were. Someone must know.)

He finally jumped up and drew his sword, meaning to kill or chase off the wolf.

“You don’t want to do that,” said the wolf.

“Yes, I rather do,” said Jollyrei.

“Okay,” said the wolf, “I can see your point. Consider, however, your position. You are one man, admittedly with a sword, and I am a bloody great timber wolf, who, I should note, has just eaten the better part of a very good sized war horse.”

“Yes,” said Jollyrei, always one to consider the angles. “I can see that. So…”

“So, do you feel lucky?” said the wolf.

“Oh great,” said Jollyrei. “So now I’m supposed to be questing, and I’ve lost my horse. “

“There was a sign,” said the wolf. “It was all very clear. No fine print even. You can’t say you weren’t warned.”

“Aha!” said Jollyrei, raising his sword, “it also said I would live!”

“Then clearly you don’t try to attack a vicious wolf 3 times your size,” said the wolf.

Jollyrei lowered his sword. “I’m not conceding,” he said. “Just reconsidering my options.”

“Good man,” said the wolf. “So what’s the game? What are you, a fine prince of all these bloody Russias, doing riding around in the dread Forest of…er…Dread?”

“Losing my horse, it would seem,” said Jollyrei. “On the other hand, it does show that prophesies do come true. I am on track.”

“On track to do what?” asked the wolf.

“It’s really none of your business,” said Jollyrei, “but if you must know, I am looking for the Firebird.”

“Ah,” said the wolf. “Tricky.”

“You know of the Firebird?” asked Jollyrei.

“Graceful bird, looks like it’s on fire, turns into a pretty girl when she lands. Has a thing for apples? Yeah, I know her,” said the wolf. “Look, she’s bad news. She holds out the promise of great fortune, but also tremendous peril. I’d just go home, if I were you.”

“I can’t,” said Jollyrei, and found that he was telling a huge wolf the story of his evil father, and how he had to find the Firebird in order not to be banished to Sweden.

“I’d go to Australia,” said the wolf. “The girls are great in Australia.”

“Isn’t Australia a myth?”

“The boy is in a fairy tale looking for a Firebird, and he’s chatting to a wolf, but he’s worried that Australia might be a myth,” said the wolf drily.

“Good point,” said Jollyrei. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I seem to have no choice but to continue my quest on foot.”

“I could help you find the Firebird,” said the wolf.

“You’ll pardon me,” said Jollyrei, “if I don’t jump at this incredibly generous offer. You just ate my horse. I find it hard to trust you completely.”

“Suit yourself,” said the wolf. “I have not eaten you, you may have noticed.”

“You just ate an entire horse!” shouted Jollyrei. “I don’t think it’s likely you could eat another bite of anything.”

“Good point,” said the wolf. “I don’t even want a thin mint. So fare well.”

Jollyrei grabbed his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder, and started hiking down the road.

The sun was hot all afternoon. After a while, he started grumbling and muttering to himself. After that, he started groaning about his misfortune, and after that he just stopped doing anything. By nightfall he was exhausted. He had no idea where he was, and no idea where he was going, and he had no horse. He was alive, but that just seemed like some joke the gods were playing on him so they could laugh at him a bit longer.

He finally collapsed by the side of the road, with blisters on his feet, and unable to walk another step. He took a swig of water from his canteen, and just sat there leaning against a tree.

“So, how is it going then?” asked the wolf. “Are you any closer to your goal?”

If Jollyrei had had the strength to throw something, or had had something worth throwing, he would have done it. As it was, he just looked to his left in what he hoped was a withering, baleful manner. There was the wolf, sitting next to him, looking fit and calm.

“I have no idea where I’m going,” said Jollyrei, unable to muster up his former bravado. “How could it be going well?”

“You need the assistance of someone who knows about Firebirds,” said the wolf. “I think I mentioned that back a few miles.”

“So, how do you know about the Firebird?” asked Jollyrei.

“Well, she’s enchanted, ain’t she?” said the wolf. “I’m enchanted too.”

“Well, you’re a talking wolf,” said Jollyrei dubiously.

“Wolves all talk then, in your experience,” said the wolf.

“I’ve only ever met one. All the wolves in stories I read as a boy talked. There was the one who blew down houses built by pigs…”

“Yeah, well, I don’t go in for pigs much,” said the wolf. “I don’t have to be a wolf, you know.”

Suddenly the wolf was gone and there was a large red squirrel sitting on the ground next to Jollyrei. The squirrel wore a steel helmet and wore an elaborate sword belt, complete with a squirrel-sized broadsword.

“So you’re really a squirrel?” said Jollyrei, too tired to be surprised.

“When I can be. It beats the alternatives,” said the squirrel.

“Can you be anything else?”

“Well, sure,” said the squirrel, “but what would be the point?”

“You think being a squirrel has a point?” asked Jollyrei. “Why not just stay a wolf?”

“Hey, I don’t criticise your hair or that beard you’ve got.”

“I don’t whimsically change my whole shape and size,” said Jollyrei. “It’s a bit more than a trim off the sides.”

“Okay, bad analogy,” said the squirrel, intently combing out a tangle in its tail. “Point is, I’m enchanted, innit.”

“What are you really?” asked Jollyrei. “I mean, what shape? Are you a man?”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” said the squirrel. “Don’t really remember, but I know it’s got something to do with the Firebird. You have to find her, so I have to help you. It is my destiny.” The last phrase would have been ominous sounding if it had been said by anyone who wasn’t small, red, furry, and chewing a twig out of his tail.

“Okay, fine,” said Jollyrei. “I’m clearly not doing well finding her myself. How will you help me find her.”

“I will carry you to her,” said the squirrel.

There was a long pause. The squirrel was large, about a foot and a half tall, but Jollyrei was over six feet tall and…

“Not as a squirrel, you great pillock!” shouted the squirrel. He changed back into the wolf form, making him about 3 feet tall at the shoulders. The wolf glared at the prince.

And so, Prince Jollyrei rode the great wolf through the forest as the darkness began to fall, and the wood became murky with fog, and all those really spooky noises started, which are probably just woodland animals telling their cubs, kits, pups, and fledgelings bedtime stories, along with the odd witch cackling into her cauldron of boiled virgin and newt stew (nobody knows why they do this, except that fairy tale witches are truly awful cooks).

The prince was feeling quite uneasy when they inexplicably burst through the fog, and there in front of them was a shining palace, with an intricately wrought iron gate. Through the gate Jollyrei could see a beautiful garden, even more beautiful than the evil Tsar’s, and from the garden came a fiery glow.

Jollyrei dismounted and the wolf stretched his shoulders. “You need to lose some of those pounds,” said the wolf. “You ain’t half heavy. Get some exercise. Stop with the fatty food.”

“So the Firebird is in there?” asked Jollyrei.

“No, the goblin hoards are having a bit of a barbecue,” said the wolf. “Yes, she’s in there. You scale the walls, grab the bird, and come back over. But listen, don’t touch the cage.”

“Don’t touch the cage? Why?”

“Bad things will happen,” said the squirrel.

“Hey!” said Jollyrei in surprise. “Stop doing that! Why are you a squirrel again.”

“Access,” said the squirrel, darting through the bars of the gate.

“And I have to vault over the walls?” asked Jollyrei.

“Yes, because if you touch the gate…”

“Bad things?”

“Right.”

So Jollyrei dropped his saddlebags and some of his heavier gear. He kept his sword, which was not in any way magical, but was quite nice and sharp, and he painstakingly climbed over the wall. At least this felt right. How he was going to climb back over carrying a Firebird he didn’t know, but he reckoned he should solve one problem at a time.

He dropped lightly to the ground on the other side of the wall, and only tripped once, making a foolish amount of noise crashing through a rosebush, but nobody seemed to notice except the squirrel who rolled his eyes.

There in the centre of the garden was an ornate gilded cage. The door of the cage was open, and the Firebird was inside. She seemed to shimmer between her bird and woman forms, sometimes a fiery bird, and sometimes a woman in a sheer dress of flame, her shapely form showing through the fire. Jollyrei stood entranced.

“She was a princess once,” said the squirrel. “Her dress of fire is the source of her power, but also her prison. She can never know freedom or love until she is, er, freed from her dress. Then the spell will be broken, and the power of the sorcerer who owns her will be destroyed.”

“I shall free her then,” said Jollyrei.

“You can’t,” said the squirrel. “You can release her from the cage, but if you try to remove the dress, you burn.”

“Okay,” said Jollyrei. “One thing at a time. Who’s this sorcerer?”

“His name is Wragg,” said the squirrel. “He’s got the army of goblins I mentioned.”

“Are you kidding me!” shouted Jollyrei.

“Shhhhh!” said the squirrel.

“Are you kidding me,” whispered Jollyrei. “Goblins?!”

“Don’t touch the cage,” said the squirrel.

“Dammit!” said Jollyrei. But he reached carefully into the cage and gently grasped the Firebird/woman around the waist. As he did so, she turned fully into her bird form, which disappointed him for some reason, but she seemed quite content to rest in his hands. He unsnapped the chain that held her in the cage, and carefully withdrew her. He snapped her chain to his belt, and she sat perched on his wrist like a fiery falcon.

“So now, I just have to get her back to my father,” said Jollyrei, somewhat reluctantly. “And I’ll be Tsar of all the Russias.”

“How many are there?” asked the squirrel.

“Who knows?” said Jollyrei. “A few, I guess.”

So entranced by the beauty of the bird was he, that he strolled straight to the gate and put his hand on the latch before the squirrel had time to yell: “Don’t touch the…”

In moments they were surrounded by an extremely large number of extremely ugly goblins, wielding extremely ugly, but serviceably sharp swords.

“Do please drop your weapons and remain calm,” said a jovial sounding voice. “Blood on the garden path is so very tedious.”

“I think we’re about to meet the evil sorcerer Wragg,” said the wolf.

“Sorry about the touching the gate thing,” said Jollyrei. “Feel a bit stupid about that.”

“No really?” asked the wolf. “Ever been in a goblin dungeon?”

“No,” said Jollyrei. “I’ve never been in any dungeon.”

“A day of firsts for you then,” said the wolf.

“Well, he shall not get this Firebird back,” said Jollyrei. He unclasped the chain from his belt and took the jewelled collar off the bird’s neck. Then he launched her into the sky.

“Oh dear,” said the Sorcerer, watching the Firebird fly over the garden wall and into the forest. “Now what will we do with you?” The goblins made a few suggestive noises.

“I thought you said that freeing the bird would end his powers,” said Jollyrei.

“Seems not,” said the wolf. “Believe me when I say I’m as surprised as you.”


to be continued…
 
Absolutely delightful. I giggled at the dialogue all the way through it. So much fun.

pillock!

I learned a new word too. Perhaps it should be added to the CF lexicon of code words (like the "T" word).


Can use it in a sentence ... like "Tree's character "Gunnar" is such a pillock!"

Seriously, I can't wait now to see what kind of surprises releasing the Firebird may bring.

Keep this going Jolly. We are all watching for the next one.
 
Chapter 2:

Prince Jollyrei rode up the centre road, which quickly started descending from what had been a rocky bleak plateau down into a forested valley. The sun came out, and he was feeling quite cheerful. He spurred his horse into a gallop and was moving quickly, even though he had no idea where he was going.

It wasn’t like finding a Firebird was simple. It was all the business of looking for the Firebird that was tricky. I mean, it’s not like there was a book on the life and habitat of the red-plumed Firebird. Actually, he thought, maybe there was, but he hadn’t bothered to check the palace library. He had packed food, weapons, warm clothing, and a first aid kit, in addition to blankets and other things you needed to camp out. He had even packed a few things he had heard that some Italian nobleman, Casanova, always took along in case he might spend the night with a lady and might need fresh breath in the morning.

The forest was getting thicker now, and he slowed his horse to avoid being brained by low branches. It seemed unlikely that he would find any young ladies in this wood to spend the night with. A map might have been a better idea, but nobody in fairy tale quests ever takes a map. He felt happy about this thought. At least he was doing this whole questing thing properly. Bound to get somewhere.

So he pressed on through the forest, convinced that, even though he really had no idea what he was doing, he would ultimately win through. It had always worked before. On the other hand, he thought, in most fairy tales, it was the third son who usually managed to fulfill the quest and live happily ever after with a beautiful princess, and he knew how to count. There was Phlebas and him. That made two, not three. Perhaps some caution was in order.

Around noon, he came to a clearing in the wood, where the sun shone down in dappled dancing beams among some wildflowers, and he decided that it was time for a rest. He dismounted and took down his saddlebags and then let his horse graze in the meadow while he had a bite of lunch.

“Well,” he said, “so far I am not cold nor hungry, and even though I have no idea where the Firebird might be, this forest is quite peaceful. I think that whole thing about my horse dying must be false.” He laughed happily as he sat down to eat some cold beef and bread, and a few swallows of wine he had brought along.

Nobody could have been more surprised than him when a huge gray wolf leapt out of the forest and ate his horse.

He just stared. One second, all was peaceful. There was decent wine and a grazing happy horse. The next second (or so it seemed) the horse was down, there was blood everywhere, or all over one large patch of meadow anyway, and a huge wolf was tucking into his horse.

The wolf did not bother to eat the saddle or bridle, but made a good job of much of the rest of a very decent horse. Jollyrei had worked hard to buy that horse from Lada Zhiguli, the most famous horse breeder in all the Russias. (He really would have to find out how many Russias there were. Someone must know.)

He finally jumped up and drew his sword, meaning to kill or chase off the wolf.

“You don’t want to do that,” said the wolf.

“Yes, I rather do,” said Jollyrei.

“Okay,” said the wolf, “I can see your point. Consider, however, your position. You are one man, admittedly with a sword, and I am a bloody great timber wolf, who, I should note, has just eaten the better part of a very good sized war horse.”

“Yes,” said Jollyrei, always one to consider the angles. “I can see that. So…”

“So, do you feel lucky?” said the wolf.

“Oh great,” said Jollyrei. “So now I’m supposed to be questing, and I’ve lost my horse. “

“There was a sign,” said the wolf. “It was all very clear. No fine print even. You can’t say you weren’t warned.”

“Aha!” said Jollyrei, raising his sword, “it also said I would live!”

“Then clearly you don’t try to attack a vicious wolf 3 times your size,” said the wolf.

Jollyrei lowered his sword. “I’m not conceding,” he said. “Just reconsidering my options.”

“Good man,” said the wolf. “So what’s the game? What are you, a fine prince of all these bloody Russias, doing riding around in the dread Forest of…er…Dread?”

“Losing my horse, it would seem,” said Jollyrei. “On the other hand, it does show that prophesies do come true. I am on track.”

“On track to do what?” asked the wolf.

“It’s really none of your business,” said Jollyrei, “but if you must know, I am looking for the Firebird.”

“Ah,” said the wolf. “Tricky.”

“You know of the Firebird?” asked Jollyrei.

“Graceful bird, looks like it’s on fire, turns into a pretty girl when she lands. Has a thing for apples? Yeah, I know her,” said the wolf. “Look, she’s bad news. She holds out the promise of great fortune, but also tremendous peril. I’d just go home, if I were you.”

“I can’t,” said Jollyrei, and found that he was telling a huge wolf the story of his evil father, and how he had to find the Firebird in order not to be banished to Sweden.

“I’d go to Australia,” said the wolf. “The girls are great in Australia.”

“Isn’t Australia a myth?”

“The boy is in a fairy tale looking for a Firebird, and he’s chatting to a wolf, but he’s worried that Australia might be a myth,” said the wolf drily.

“Good point,” said Jollyrei. “Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I seem to have no choice but to continue my quest on foot.”

“I could help you find the Firebird,” said the wolf.

“You’ll pardon me,” said Jollyrei, “if I don’t jump at this incredibly generous offer. You just ate my horse. I find it hard to trust you completely.”

“Suit yourself,” said the wolf. “I have not eaten you, you may have noticed.”

“You just ate an entire horse!” shouted Jollyrei. “I don’t think it’s likely you could eat another bite of anything.”

“Good point,” said the wolf. “I don’t even want a thin mint. So fare well.”

Jollyrei grabbed his saddlebags and slung them over his shoulder, and started hiking down the road.

The sun was hot all afternoon. After a while, he started grumbling and muttering to himself. After that, he started groaning about his misfortune, and after that he just stopped doing anything. By nightfall he was exhausted. He had no idea where he was, and no idea where he was going, and he had no horse. He was alive, but that just seemed like some joke the gods were playing on him so they could laugh at him a bit longer.

He finally collapsed by the side of the road, with blisters on his feet, and unable to walk another step. He took a swig of water from his canteen, and just sat there leaning against a tree.

“So, how is it going then?” asked the wolf. “Are you any closer to your goal?”

If Jollyrei had had the strength to throw something, or had had something worth throwing, he would have done it. As it was, he just looked to his left in what he hoped was a withering, baleful manner. There was the wolf, sitting next to him, looking fit and calm.

“I have no idea where I’m going,” said Jollyrei, unable to muster up his former bravado. “How could it be going well?”

“You need the assistance of someone who knows about Firebirds,” said the wolf. “I think I mentioned that back a few miles.”

“So, how do you know about the Firebird?” asked Jollyrei.

“Well, she’s enchanted, ain’t she?” said the wolf. “I’m enchanted too.”

“Well, you’re a talking wolf,” said Jollyrei dubiously.

“Wolves all talk then, in your experience,” said the wolf.

“I’ve only ever met one. All the wolves in stories I read as a boy talked. There was the one who blew down houses built by pigs…”

“Yeah, well, I don’t go in for pigs much,” said the wolf. “I don’t have to be a wolf, you know.”

Suddenly the wolf was gone and there was a large red squirrel sitting on the ground next to Jollyrei. The squirrel wore a steel helmet and wore an elaborate sword belt, complete with a squirrel-sized broadsword.

“So you’re really a squirrel?” said Jollyrei, too tired to be surprised.

“When I can be. It beats the alternatives,” said the squirrel.

“Can you be anything else?”

“Well, sure,” said the squirrel, “but what would be the point?”

“You think being a squirrel has a point?” asked Jollyrei. “Why not just stay a wolf?”

“Hey, I don’t criticise your hair or that beard you’ve got.”

“I don’t whimsically change my whole shape and size,” said Jollyrei. “It’s a bit more than a trim off the sides.”

“Okay, bad analogy,” said the squirrel, intently combing out a tangle in its tail. “Point is, I’m enchanted, innit.”

“What are you really?” asked Jollyrei. “I mean, what shape? Are you a man?”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” said the squirrel. “Don’t really remember, but I know it’s got something to do with the Firebird. You have to find her, so I have to help you. It is my destiny.” The last phrase would have been ominous sounding if it had been said by anyone who wasn’t small, red, furry, and chewing a twig out of his tail.

“Okay, fine,” said Jollyrei. “I’m clearly not doing well finding her myself. How will you help me find her.”

“I will carry you to her,” said the squirrel.

There was a long pause. The squirrel was large, about a foot and a half tall, but Jollyrei was over six feet tall and…

“Not as a squirrel, you great pillock!” shouted the squirrel. He changed back into the wolf form, making him about 3 feet tall at the shoulders. The wolf glared at the prince.

And so, Prince Jollyrei rode the great wolf through the forest as the darkness began to fall, and the wood became murky with fog, and all those really spooky noises started, which are probably just woodland animals telling their cubs, kits, pups, and fledgelings bedtime stories, along with the odd witch cackling into her cauldron of boiled virgin and newt stew (nobody knows why they do this, except that fairy tale witches are truly awful cooks).

The prince was feeling quite uneasy when they inexplicably burst through the fog, and there in front of them was a shining palace, with an intricately wrought iron gate. Through the gate Jollyrei could see a beautiful garden, even more beautiful than the evil Tsar’s, and from the garden came a fiery glow.

Jollyrei dismounted and the wolf stretched his shoulders. “You need to lose some of those pounds,” said the wolf. “You ain’t half heavy. Get some exercise. Stop with the fatty food.”

“So the Firebird is in there?” asked Jollyrei.

“No, the goblin hoards are having a bit of a barbecue,” said the wolf. “Yes, she’s in there. You scale the walls, grab the bird, and come back over. But listen, don’t touch the cage.”

“Don’t touch the cage? Why?”

“Bad things will happen,” said the squirrel.

“Hey!” said Jollyrei in surprise. “Stop doing that! Why are you a squirrel again.”

“Access,” said the squirrel, darting through the bars of the gate.

“And I have to vault over the walls?” asked Jollyrei.

“Yes, because if you touch the gate…”

“Bad things?”

“Right.”

So Jollyrei dropped his saddlebags and some of his heavier gear. He kept his sword, which was not in any way magical, but was quite nice and sharp, and he painstakingly climbed over the wall. At least this felt right. How he was going to climb back over carrying a Firebird he didn’t know, but he reckoned he should solve one problem at a time.

He dropped lightly to the ground on the other side of the wall, and only tripped once, making a foolish amount of noise crashing through a rosebush, but nobody seemed to notice except the squirrel who rolled his eyes.

There in the centre of the garden was an ornate gilded cage. The door of the cage was open, and the Firebird was inside. She seemed to shimmer between her bird and woman forms, sometimes a fiery bird, and sometimes a woman in a sheer dress of flame, her shapely form showing through the fire. Jollyrei stood entranced.

“She was a princess once,” said the squirrel. “Her dress of fire is the source of her power, but also her prison. She can never know freedom or love until she is, er, freed from her dress. Then the spell will be broken, and the power of the sorcerer who owns her will be destroyed.”

“I shall free her then,” said Jollyrei.

“You can’t,” said the squirrel. “You can release her from the cage, but if you try to remove the dress, you burn.”

“Okay,” said Jollyrei. “One thing at a time. Who’s this sorcerer?”

“His name is Wragg,” said the squirrel. “He’s got the army of goblins I mentioned.”

“Are you kidding me!” shouted Jollyrei.

“Shhhhh!” said the squirrel.

“Are you kidding me,” whispered Jollyrei. “Goblins?!”

“Don’t touch the cage,” said the squirrel.

“Dammit!” said Jollyrei. But he reached carefully into the cage and gently grasped the Firebird/woman around the waist. As he did so, she turned fully into her bird form, which disappointed him for some reason, but she seemed quite content to rest in his hands. He unsnapped the chain that held her in the cage, and carefully withdrew her. He snapped her chain to his belt, and she sat perched on his wrist like a fiery falcon.

“So now, I just have to get her back to my father,” said Jollyrei, somewhat reluctantly. “And I’ll be Tsar of all the Russias.”

“How many are there?” asked the squirrel.

“Who knows?” said Jollyrei. “A few, I guess.”

So entranced by the beauty of the bird was he, that he strolled straight to the gate and put his hand on the latch before the squirrel had time to yell: “Don’t touch the…”

In moments they were surrounded by an extremely large number of extremely ugly goblins, wielding extremely ugly, but serviceably sharp swords.

“Do please drop your weapons and remain calm,” said a jovial sounding voice. “Blood on the garden path is so very tedious.”

“I think we’re about to meet the evil sorcerer Wragg,” said the wolf.

“Sorry about the touching the gate thing,” said Jollyrei. “Feel a bit stupid about that.”

“No really?” asked the wolf. “Ever been in a goblin dungeon?”

“No,” said Jollyrei. “I’ve never been in any dungeon.”

“A day of firsts for you then,” said the wolf.

“Well, he shall not get this Firebird back,” said Jollyrei. He unclasped the chain from his belt and took the jewelled collar off the bird’s neck. Then he launched her into the sky.

“Oh dear,” said the Sorcerer, watching the Firebird fly over the garden wall and into the forest. “Now what will we do with you?” The goblins made a few suggestive noises.

“I thought you said that freeing the bird would end his powers,” said Jollyrei.

“Seems not,” said the wolf. “Believe me when I say I’m as surprised as you.”


to be continued…
Oops, you should have listened to the squirrel, and not touched the gate:doh: Now you are in trouble.
A very fun chapter Jollyrei.
 
The centre road seemed to be the right one. The horse is indeed dead but replaced by a much better mount and the firebird is already found.
Everything went so well until... Well, it had to happen. In a fairy tale something that shouldn't be touched is always touched.
Wondering how prince Phlebas is doing meanwhile. 56460232.jpg
 
Hum, I'm not sure that I've well understood , my English'knowledge is certainly not suffiscient to appreciate all the finenenesses of the language ...
But I try ...;)
and a Firebird, a Wolf / Squirrel, a Sorcerer and some Goblins ! All is there to make a good fairy tale !
Only a Princess is missing .... Who could she be ?
We're waiting ... :rolleyes:
 
Btw I keep waving my hand whenever the Russias question comes up but will it break the story if I tell people the answer?

Great and stupendous tale Jolly :)

Also does anyone know if fairies have tails only that would totally change my appreciation of them :eek:
 
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